


A Study of Roses and Bone

by mellifluousharbringer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Tom Riddle - Freeform, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:33:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellifluousharbringer/pseuds/mellifluousharbringer
Summary: Hermione's eyes traveled slowly down the bone-white curved wand to the pale, slender fingers holding it. She instantly glanced up and met a pair of dark navy eyes set in an intense glare.Hermione's eyes did not leave Tom Riddle's as he hissed,"How did you get in my bed?"in which Hermione goes back in time and meets a (brooding, ambitious, more-handsome-than-she-thought) post-Hogwarts Tom Riddle.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Hermione's vision blurred as she looked at the gruesome chaos that surrounded her. She felt numb, almost paralyzed as she saw her friends being overtaken by Death Eater forces. For the first time in her life, Hermione couldn't think of a spell to cast, couldn't move her wand arm.  
She knew it was time.  
Hand shaking, she removed a tiny bottle from the deep pockets of her robes. The vivid orange potion seemed out of place in the grey, bloodied landscape. Hermione took a deep breath, uncorked the small vial, and lifted it to her lips.

Hermione's heart beat slowly three times.  
Thud.  
Thud.  
Thud.  
And the world went black.

Hermione woke up to the smell of cedar trees.  
The potion Dumbledore had entrusted to her in secrecy must have worked. The smell of dust, fire, and blood was gone. Hermione kept her eyes shut, not wanting to see a new world, a world without Harry, Ron, Luna, and countless others. She heard the faint chirping of birds, car horns, and laughter.

A bright light pierced her eyelids, causing her eyes to snap open.  
Her eyes crossed as she focused on the tip of a wand, pointed at her face. Hermione's eyes traveled slowly down the bone-white curved wand to the pale, slender fingers holding it. She instantly glanced up and met a pair of dark navy eyes set in an intense glare. She smelled cedar again as the man bent closer to her.

Hermione's eyes did not leave Tom Riddle's as he hissed,  
"How did you get in my bed?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Dumbledore gazed calmly at Hermione as she processed what she had just witnessed in the Pensieve._

_“You-Know-Who stayed at that orphanage until he was seventeen? That terrible place?” Hermione whispered, “Harry never told me how ghastly the children were treated.”_

_Dumbledore sighed, placing his bony fingertips on her hand._

_“Harry never saw those memories, Miss Granger. It is imperitive that Harry carries out his final task. The horcrux that resides within him must be destroyed. I fear these memories would only delay Harry.”_

_The headmaster faced Hermione squarely, and regarded her through his silver half-moon glasses._

_“These memories, Hermione, are for you.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“How did you get in my bed?”

Hermione stared and stared into incensed midnight blue eyes, gathering her Gryffindor courage.

Dumbledore had prepared her for this moment.

            “Hermione LaVigne, Unspeakable.” Hermione reached for her pocket and smoothly produced an identification card. Tom Riddle examined her face with interest, then snatched the card, keeping his wand pointed at her.

            “My latest assignment required me to track a strong Dark artifact. I underestimated the power of a curse placed on it and was rendered unconscious.”  Hermione was relieved that her backstory had been thoroughly vetted with Dumbledore. The bleached yew wand millimeters away from her neck caused her pulse to pound.

            “I was using a tracing spell to follow the object. I don’t know why I’m here, unless the spell latched onto another powerful source of Dark magic….” Hermione trailed off, letting her eyes meet Riddle’s.

            “You must have performed the spell incorrectly, Miss LaVigne,” he snapped, “as there is no Dark magic in my bedroom.”

            He swiftly handed Hermione back the card, lowered his wand, and lifted a black brow.

            “What spell did you use?”

            “ _Malefic Nox_. Its pinpoint accuracy and stability is debated by experts, though it works well over long distances. In hindsight, I should have used---”

            “ _Depravat Mal._ ” Riddle interrupted. “ _Depravat Mal_ only works in a radius of approximately twenty kilometers but can locate a Dark object to a precise location. It also alerts the caster to any possible curses on the object. Both spells were invented by the same man,”

            “ _Logregla._ ” They finished the sentence at the same time.

            “Logregla’s writings on the auras surrounding Dark objects are unmatched by any modern author,” Hermione said, “and his Dark potion manual—”

            “ _A Guide to Covert Mixtures.”_ Riddle interjected, “we stock it at my employers.” He broke eye contact with Hermione, examining the small window next to his bed.

            “Who is your employer?” Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

            “ _Borgin and Burkes_.” Riddle shifted his weight and crossed his arms.

            “In Knockturn Alley? The store that _sells and purchases_ Dark objects?”

            “The magic that is contained in those items is unparalleled.” Riddle said brusquely, “My wizarding education is furthered by working there.”

            “Of course.” Hermione stated. She stood up from Riddle’s bed and glanced around his small, bare bedroom.

“ _Malefic Nox_ must have pinpointed your essence, since you work around so many Dark objects. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Hermione gave Riddle a half-smile and moved to step around him.

Riddle’s pale fingers suddenly wrapped around Hermione’s wrist. His navy eyes trailed up her face and met her gaze.

“What Dark artifact are you tracking?” he asked, holding onto Hermione’s wrist.

“I’m an Unspeakable. You know I cannot tell you,” Hermione murmured, “Excuse me, sir.”

            Riddle let go of Hermione immediately, but leaned closer to her, his shadowy eyes meeting hers.

            “Borgin and Burkes may have items that could assist you in your assignment, Miss LaVigne,” Riddle breathed, “Visit the store. Ask for Tom Riddle.”

            “I would trust anyone who knows Logregla’s spells,” Hermione replied, “I’ll see you there.”

            Hermione pushed the weathered door open and left, hiding a smirk. Tom Riddle’s arrogance was as predictable as the eastern sunrise. Dumbledore’s plan was set in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mischievous Hermione.  
> Don't worry, the plot soon thickens.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hermione paced the bleached marble floors in Dumbledore’s office. “Voldemort had a friend at the orphanage? How is that possible?” She stopped in front of the wizened professor and looked up. “Harry told me Voldemort was incapable of forming any real attachments. Voldemort cannot love.”_

_Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and gave Hermione a half smile. “In regard to Voldemort in his present state, Miss Granger, I believe he is no longer capable of forming attachments.” Dumbledore’s tired blue eyes pierced Hermione. “Tom Riddle is another matter entirely.”_

_Hermione sank into a cushioned chintz armchair and ran her finger along the seams. “It’s hard to separate them in my mind— Riddle and Voldemort. When I think of all the evil he has done—”_

_“—Voldemort has done.” Dumbledore interrupted. “Leave Voldemort to Harry and the Order, Miss Granger. We are speaking of Tom.”_

_An expectant silence filled the room._

_“Sir,” Hermione began hesitantly, “Do you really think Riddle was able to love?”_

_Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he observed Hermione. “It was difficult for him, I believe. Almost unnatural. But not impossible, Miss Granger. Not impossible.”_

* * *

 

 

            Hermione pulled her emerald cloak snug around her arms and tightened her black scarf. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she left the warmth of the Leaky Cauldron and set out into Diagon Alley.

            Hermione’s breath formed an icy cloud in the air as she sighed. _It’s just talking to him,_ she thought, _just trying to form a connection. I can do that._

The memory of Tom Riddle’s dark eyes invaded Hermione’s thoughts as she walked the familiar cobblestone path. _He looks… different than I imagined. Voldemort doesn’t resemble his younger self._ Hermione considered Riddle’s imposing, striking features. _If I didn’t know better—_

Hermione’s boot scuffed a stray brick, and she stumbled, scowling at herself.   _Pull yourself together Hermione,_ she scolded herself, _you are a Gryffindor._ Hermione stopped at a shadowed corned of the alley. The words Borgin and Burkes were painted in peeling silver letters on a dark wooden door. Hermione straightened her scarf, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

            Black floorboards groaned and creaked as she stepped into the Dark shop. Hermione could almost smell the Dark power radiating from the artifacts in the store. Her magic seemed to vibrate in their presence. Hermione’s gut gave a sharp tug as she saw an inky head of hair emerge from below a counter. Tom Riddle fluidly stood, then turned to Hermione.  His shadowed eyes lit up.

            “Miss LaVigne!” Riddle’s pale face colored slightly, and he moved to stand in front of Hermione. “I see you heeded my advice.” His mouth curved upward, and he gestured with one arm in a wide arc. “Welcome to Borgin and Burkes.”

            “Thank you, Mr. Riddle. It’s nice to meet you in a normal capacity,” Hermione grinned, then glanced around the shop, “although I wouldn’t call this shop ‘normal’.”

            Riddle stiffened and crossed his arms.

“How so?”

            Hermione brought her hands to her chest and splayed her palms against her heart. “Can’t you feel it? The amount of magic contained here is extraordinary.” She ran her hands down the ends of her scarf.

“I can feel it calling to me, almost begging me to explore this place.” Hermione lifted her hands back to her heart. “It nearly hurts, how much it sings to me.”

            Riddle’s expression illuminated. He slowly lifted a hand to his sternum and tapped twice. “Don’t be afraid. I feel it too.” His eyes moved to the end of Hermione’s scarf, then traveled up the lines of her face.

“This store allows me to research forgotten magic, powerful enchantments and artifacts that have been lost to modern studies. The raw power of some of these spells...” He trailed off, then grinned. “The power is more intoxicating than firewhiskey.”

            Hermione’s breath caught as she glimpsed Riddle’s grin. The Dark Lord was _smiling_ , looking down at her like he was comfortable with her. Hermione turned to the side, suddenly uncomfortable.

            “Will you show me?” Hermione asked hesitantly, tracing a finger along a worn wooden counter. “As an Unspeakable, the knowledge would be invaluable. And as a witch who is curious about these sort of things…” Hermione kept her head down. “I want to learn. As much as I can, if possible. The far reaches of our magic, the neglected spells, the ancient objects… I want to know it all.”

            The floor creaked as Riddle shifted to stand in front of Hermione. Hermione could see each dark eyelash curving against his cheek as he bent close to her. Riddle’s intense navy eyes met hers.

“We could enter into a partnership; of sorts,” he said softly, “and research together. My experience here and your experience as an Unspeakable—”

Riddle lifted a hand to Hermione’s scarf, and straightened it. Hermione wasn’t breathing as his hand hovered briefly over her throat. Riddle tightened his hand into a fist and placed it at his side.

            “—think of all we could discover.”

            “Things that nobody has seen before,” whispered Hermione, “new magic.”

            Riddle smiled again, this time with no warmth. There was almost a manic gleam to his eye as he said, “Exactly.”

            “I need someone to work with me. To bounce ideas off—someone who is also academically inclined. Someone who isn’t afraid to push the limits of modern wizardry. Someone who isn’t afraid of dark enchantments. Someone—”

            “—like me.” Hermione finished. Her eyes bounced excitedly across Riddle’s face. “I’m a scholar, first and foremost. I’m not afraid of power. And I want to learn _everything_ about magic.”

            Riddle’s face gleamed with satisfaction. He held out a hand for Hermione to shake. She grasped his hand firmly, feeling his long fingers press on the inside of her wrist. He held the gesture a second too long, long enough for him to feel Hermione’s racing heartbeat. His eyes sparked, and he whispered, “ _Everything_ starts tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a partnership whaaat?  
> also spot the reylo


	4. Chapter 4

            The early morning sky was painted with streaks of rosy dawn as Tom Riddle apparated into the Forest of Dean. Tom glanced side to side, making sure he was alone, and sheathed his wand. He reached into a faded grey satchel and pulled out several raw, red steaks. Tom put his thumb and pointer finger in his mouth, gave a sharp two-tone whistle, and settled down on the forest floor to wait.

Tom savored these early mornings. He could let down his guard and truly, genuinely think. The dappled canopy of leaves above him rustled and swayed, and a cacophony of birds replaced the drone of human life. A small brown sparrow landed softly on the soil in front of him and cocked its head. Staring intently at him, it let out a peal of bright birdsong. Tom was suddenly reminded of another creature observing him in this manner.

            _“Hermione,”_ he thought, _“her eyes were almost that color.”_ The chestnut-breasted sparrow hopped closer and sang brightly. _“Why did I offer to work with her?”_

Tom prided himself on being extremely independent and self-sufficient. Ever since the orphanage, Tom had no desire to work closely with anyone. Nobody could match his intellect, and nobody could handle his intensity.

            _“But the girl,”_ he thought, wrapping his arms around his legs, _“I’ve met her all of twice and she has captured my attention. She seems... different.”_ Tom recalled the memory of clear, pure intelligence in her hazel eyes.

            _“She interests me like no other person has.”_

            The hair on the back of Tom’s neck suddenly stood up. He was being watched. Tom looked up to see sunken, cloudy white eyes staring at him.

            “It’s been a while, Erebus,” he said softly, holding out a steak, “it’s just me.”

The thestral slowly ambled closer, its skeletal wings held tight to its inky body. Tom smelled decay as the death-horse nudged his hand with its nose, then snorted and took the steak.

            “There’s my boy.” Tom whispered, running a hand gently down the thestral’s mane. Tom could feel every muscle contraction as Erebus devoured the meat. Erebus finished his meal, then turned to Tom, letting out a low whinny as he rubbed his neck affectionately on Tom’s shoulder. Tom felt a strange sense of kinship with this death-horse. Erebus had no herd and lived in the woods alone. Most wizards weren’t even aware of the existence of thestrals. Still, he was a strong, young thestral who walked the forests like he was some sort of macabre deity. Erebus had taken to Tom Riddle from their first meeting, drawn to the intense, composed young man who looked him in the eyes. Erebus had trotted directly up to him and flapped his bat-like wings once as a sign of mutual respect. Tom had visited him regularly ever since then.

            “Do you ever wish you had someone by your side, Erebus?” Tom asked the creature, rubbing his bony side. The horse let out a raspy moan.

“I’m meeting with someone today. A girl.” The thestral turned its head and fixed one colorless eyeball on Tom, snorting.

“What, Erebus?”

The thestral nipped at Tom’s shirt, whinnying.

“Yes, she is attractive,” said Tom, thinking of Hermione’s wild, untamed curls, “She’s striking, intriguing. You would like her.”

 

* * *

 

Once again, Hermione was striding down the crooked alleyways of Diagon Alley in pursuit of Tom Riddle. She blinked raindrops out of her eyes as she turned down Knockturn Alley and spotted Borgin and Burkes. The hazy condensation on the windows nettled Hermione, who meant to catch a glimpse of Riddle before she opened the shop door. Hermione pushed open the damp, heavy door, and looked down as she stomped her boots on a woven rug in the entryway. Hermione felt a warm hand tilt her chin up and saw Tom Riddle staring at her. He lifted a pale hand and gently brushed raindrops off her cheeks.

“You are soaking wet.” he observed, lifting his wand. Hermione felt a wave of hot air rush through her hair, warming her to her core.

“Thank you.” Hermione whispered, suddenly aware of how close he was standing. She breathed in deeply, inhaling his earthy cedar scent. She stared at the tortoiseshell buttons of his jet-black duster coat and crossed her arms.

“Do you have any plans for our… intellectual collaboration today?” Hermione asked.

“Intellectual collaboration…” Riddle smirked. “Now I have a label for our strange partnership.”

Hermione shrugged. “Would you rather I called us coworkers?”

“No,” Riddle said deliberately, “ _coworkers_ is too tame a word for people like us.” His dark eyes met Hermione’s.

“And yes, I do have a plan for today. How would you feel about leaving London?” Hermione tilted her head in questioning. “What sort of research do you have in mind?”

Riddle hesitated, so negligible that Hermione almost missed his pause, and wrapped his fingers around Hermione’s wrist.

            “Let me show you.” Riddle tightened his grip around Hermione’s wrist and gave a quarter turn.

            Hermione felt the unmistakable, uncomfortable pressure of Apparation. Her eyes burned with glaring white light as she pressed herself into Riddle’s side, seeking a more stable grip. Hermione tucked her head against Riddles shoulder and closed her eyes. Riddle’s grip on her wrist loosened, and she felt his long fingers lace themselves into her hand. Moments later, the confining force of Apparation stopped.

            Hermione looked down as she blinked her eyes quickly against the brilliant sunlight. She was standing on a tall, grassy prairie. Hermione lifted her head from Riddles shoulder to take in her surroundings. Vivid wildflowers sporadically peeked through the swaying grasses. She could see a sapphire river sparkling invitingly in the horizon. Small finches chased each other through the field, merrily chirping.

            “It’s beautiful, but I don’t understand how—”

            Riddle tugged on Hermione’s hand and turned her around. He raised their joined hands to point at a nearby weathered grey stone, that looked somewhat like—

            “Welcome to the grave of Morgana le Fay.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione dropped Riddle’s hand and took a step back.

“The grave of—Morgana le Fay—but..but…” Hermione stammered, “She’s only the b-best witch in all of history!”

Riddle smirked, gesturing for Hermione to move closer to the gravestone. “I know.”

Hermione crossed her arms and cocked her head to look at Riddle.

“The burial site of Morgana le Fay was assumed to be lost in time. _Hundreds_ of witches and wizards have looked for it to pay tribute to her legendary powers. How did you find it?”

Riddle’s lips curved upwards in an arrogant smile.

“Do you know what branch of magic Morgana le Fay was known for?”

“Of course,” Hermione scoffed, “She was the best healer the wizarding world had ever known. It was said she could heal a dead man with just a touch.”

“Correct.” Riddle moved closer to Hermione, his dark eyes shining in the bright sunlight. “However—” Riddle stopped a hairsbreadth away from Hermione, his ebony duster coat swishing around his ankles. “her healing prowess wasn’t due to extensive knowledge of anatomy, or herbology, or charms.”

“Morgana le Fay was a Dark witch.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “But there’s no mention of that. Morgana is endorsed by the Ministry itself. Someone would have known—”

“—do you think the husbands, wives, children, and friends of those Morgana healed cared that she used Dark magic to do so?” Riddle interrupted, his voice rising. “She saved so many lives. Just because the magic is _labeled_ as Dark magic doesn’t inherently make it so.” His indigo eyes bored into Hermione’s, almost daring her to disagree.

Hermione blinked, just to break the intensity of Tom Riddle’s scrutiny. She breathed in, almost tasting the emotion and power coming off of Riddle in waves.

“I just—” she started, “didn’t know. Morgana le Fay is one of my favorite historical figures. And—” Hermione bared her teeth at Riddle.

“I _don’t like_ not knowing things.”

Riddle gave her a wisp of a midnight smile. “In that, we are the same.”

Hermione’s gaze traveled over Riddle’s pale, handsome face. Sunlight danced off his hewn cheekbones and shone on his raven hair. Hermione’s stare shifted to Riddles long fingers as he began unbuttoning his long coat.

“So, why are we at the grave of the best wizarding healer? Are we trying to absorb her knowledge from six feet under?” Hermione asked.

“No.” Riddle retrieved his wand from a deep pocket, folded his coat neatly, and placed it carefully on the ground. “We are trying to absorb her knowledge from her missing spellbook.”

“But that’s the point isn’t it? It’s missing. Historians aren’t even sure the spellbook existed—” Riddle stopped Hermione by putting two hands on Hermione’s shoulders. He steered her toward the front of the speckled gravestone.

“Look.” Riddle breathed.

Hermione squinted, examining the headstone. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

Riddle’s soft laugh was felt on Hermione’s neck. His hands squeezed her shoulders, then moved down to her upper arms.

“You are a strong, intelligent witch. Look harder.”

Hermione stepped out of the hold of Riddle’s arms, close enough to touch the gravestone. Her eyes slowly swept over the grey stone and came to rest on a small, worn carving nocked into the right side. She raised a hand and lightly traced it, her mind racing.

“It’s a rose.” Hermione said gently, “And it is a spelled key. It just needs some—”

“Blood.” They both finished.

Riddle methodically rolled up his sleeves and pointed his wand at a pastel blue vein on his left wrist.

“Wait, I can do that—”

Riddle gave Hermione a half grin and moved his wand in a sharp motion. A thin, red line appeared, with crimson droplets of blood already flowing.

“You should probably take out your wand and prepare yourself,” Riddle said, moving in front of the rose carving, “Dark magic rarely reveals its secrets easily. This key may need to be persuaded, coaxed, or even forced to open. It may have a violent defense mechanism.”

Hermione took out her wand and steeled her nerves, her brain whizzing through dozens of possible defense spells.

“I’m ready.” Hermione said firmly, looking straight at Riddle.

“Then let us begin.” Riddle’s eyes gleamed with an excited fervor as he pressed his arm squarely on the rose carving.

           

* * *

 

            _“Professor Dumbledore, with all due respect—”_

_Albus Dumbledore impatiently rapped his knuckles on the wooden desk. “Hermione! You are a Gryffindor, are you not? Known for your bravery, strength and willpower?”_

_“Well yes, but I don’t see how I could be friends with Voldemort—”_

_“Tom Riddle. I’m not asking you to make friendship bracelets out of unicorn hair and dragon spit, Miss Granger. I’m asking you to see if Tom Riddle, the pre-Horcrux Tom Riddle, can love. If he is worth saving, back then.”_

_Hermione pressed her lips into a white line and repressed a sigh._

_“How? How would Tom Riddle not see right through me, I mean, he is the best Legilimens the world has ever seen!”_

_Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips lightly together._

_“I would hazard a guess, and my guesses are usually correct, that Lord Voldemort began developing his Legilimency skills after making a few Horcruxes. The young Tom Riddle is skilled at magically navigating minds, make no mistake. But not more powerful than you, Miss Granger.”_

_Hermione fisted her hands and pressed them against her eyes._

_“He wouldn’t even talk to me. I’m a Gryffindor, a Mudblood, and a girl—”_

_“On the contrary, Miss Granger. Tom despises his Muggle father, true, who left him to grow up in a dilapidated, horrible orphanage. Tom venerated his Slytherin heritage, also true. However. Tom Riddle values things more than this. Intelligence. Talent. Curiosity. Passion for the Wizarding World. As private as Tom Riddle is, he values honesty and vulnerability in others. I believe he would delight in sharing his intellect and knowledge in someone who understands.”_

_Dumbledore’s eye’s twinkled mischievously as he said, “And as for being a female, Miss Granger, give yourself some credit. That should make this all the easier.”_

* * *

 

The golden lioness and the midnight-kissed serpent held their breath as they stared at the bloodied rose engraving. One charged, expectant moment passed. Two. Three.

“Maybe it—” Hermione began.

The headstone split into two jagged pieces instantaneously, as if a bolt of lightning had struck. A single vine began to twist and grow upwards from each slab of stone. When the two vines had reached eye-level, they began to coil and weave together, with thorns and leaves appearing. A single, crimson rose appeared at the heart of the two vines. Rose petals fell to the ground and shifted in the bloom to reveal a single, emerald eye.

The newly formed eye blinked, then swiveled, vines retracting, to stare at Riddle.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” An unearthly, raspy voice reverberated inside Hermione’s skull, “The arrogant, beautiful, snake speaker’s blood appears on _my_ grave.”

Hermione held her wand tight and glanced at Riddle. He looked unfazed that the phantom voice knew his name.

“Are you the spirit of Morgana le Fay?” Riddle asked smoothly.

The hoarse voice let out a laugh. “I am what is left of her. A mere wisp of my vitality, eternally tied to this grave through blood magic.”

Spots entered Hermione’s vision as the voice grew impossibly loud inside her skull, rattling her senses.  

“You wish to possess my spellbook. The night-kissed prince has come to learn my secrets. But he isn’t going to use it to heal. The cunning half-blood will use it to gain more and more and more _power_.”

“Knowledge _and_ power.”  Riddle masked his face with a polite smile and stepped closer to the ethereal rose. “Knowledge of your spells and power over them will lead to more healing than—”

“ _Liar.”_ The voice hissed. “You seek the book to boost your own ambitions. You aren’t planning to heal with the book, only steal my spells and use them for your own means. I will not let my magic be used in this way.”

Vines started to erupt from the ground at Riddle’s feet and wrap themselves tightly around his body.

Riddle’s voice became impossibly velvet and sweet as he said, “I will not hurt anyone with the knowledge contained in this book, and I will return it to you as soon—”

  A blast of white brilliant light suddenly shot out of the pupil of the rose and made right for Tom’s heart. Riddle raised his wand to block the curse when it shattered against a shield made of molten silver.

The vines twisting from the gravestone let out a hiss as the jade eyeball turned to stare at Hermione.

The voice let out an incredulous laugh.

“Who is the girl, Tom Riddle? Her blood was not sacrificed on my grave. And she is the only reason you aren’t a pile of ashes.”

“Hermione LaVigne.” The girl stated clearly.

“Hermione…” the voice purred, “Tom’s blood is _euphoric_ in your presence. The solitary serpent has made a friend.”

Riddle made a noise in back of his throat, his face suddenly stark, his wand arm raising--

Hermione stepped forward, her wand slicing at a vein on her arm. She raised her bloody wrist and let the blood drip on the rose.

“Interpret my blood. My motives are pure.” Hermione stepped back, stood next to Riddle, and stared serenely at the emerald iris.

The eye stared unblinkingly at Hermione for several long moments, then quivered as the voice started to laugh.

“The good-hearted muggle-born Gryffindor girl has made friends with the Slytherin prince! The golden queen and the black-hearted snake! And yet…”

Tom had stiffened at the word ‘muggle-born’, but moved closer to Hermione. His bicep touched her shoulder.

“….and yet you are the same. Ambitious, intelligent, curious. And you, Hermione,” the voice rasped, “You are trying to prevent death and to save what most thought lost. You are worthy of my book. But be warned, soul-saver.”

The eye closed as the rose wilted, and the vines turned brown and disintegrated into the wind.

 “Wishes and hopes live as blackened stars in a moonless night until your heart opens. You must succeed, Hermione."

A thunderous noise sounded through Hermione’s head, and the ground vibrated, leaving Hermione shaken and on her knees. She looked up, and saw the gravestone whole, as if no magic had ever touched it.  

A pale hand entered Hermione’s vision. She grasped the cold hand and felt it help herself off the ground. Hermione lifted her head defiantly and stared into the dark, angry eyes of Tom Riddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly idk what i was thinking in this chapter, only that I live for the aesthetic and tom knows she is muggleborn?? OOOPS


End file.
